I haven’t led anything since we got back from Squamish. It’s time to lead something now. I’ve always wanted to lead Outer Space (5.8-) at the Nears. I don’t know why exactly. Maybe it’s because no one, not even Steven, seems to know exactly where the route goes.

“Easier than it looks,” the guide book says. Well, sheesh, it would have to be. Standing below the Kansas City roof it’s hard to see a 5.8 way out. I sit on a boulder and try to match the route description to the available rock.

“Any idea where Outer Space goes?” I ask climbers passing by. One guy gives me an opinion that’s something near to one of the two possibilities I’d been considering. He sounds so confident too. But after consultation with the other guidebook and Todd and after spotting some pins, I finally decide that it’s my other possibility. The Williams guide mentions that the route starts behind the tree with three trunks and that’s the deciding factor. It’s a much more clear description than Swain’s “middle of the slab” which seems to point to the other choice.

So now I know where the route goes but the question remains: am I leading it? “Easier than it looks.” OK. But how’s the gear? PG, which could mean anything.

“So you go up and if you don’t like it you come down,” Todd says.

Yes, yes. That’s the sensible answer, make rational decisions as you go, don’t get yourself in a situation you can’t get out of, don’t try to climb it all from the ground, climb it as you find it. I know how to do all that now.

Fine. I will lead it. Without much ado and with some decent gear along the way, I make it up to the first of the pins I could see from the ground. I clip the pin, even back it up, then start to pull over the little blocky roof.

“I think you should be going left from here,” Todd says.

“But there aren’t any holds that way,” I say, “and there’s a pin up there.” Indeed, there are two pins up there, if only I could reach them, and a single hold up there, if only it led to another one. I pull as far over the block as I can and lock off on the single hold. The pins are just out of reach – I need to lock off a little higher; I need to let one foot leave the rock; I need to bounce. No fucking way.

I back down and add another piece. This is bomber gear and a nice looking pin. I really should be willing to chance falling on it. But I’m so not. Frankly, this is a move I’d be hesitant to make on TR and I never have been any good at risking falling intentionally.

“I really think you should go left,” Todd repeats.

It’s true that the slabby ramp goes left. It’s true that the route goes left, actually. It’s just that there aren’t really any holds over there. I suppose I’m meant to just step up on the slab . . .

I try it and find one lousy hold up there somewhere.

“That looks good,” Todd says as I scurry back to the safety of my gear. I still didn’t see a second hold. I try again and find a side pull from which, in a very gym-like move, I’m able to hang a draw through the pin. As I pull the rope up to clip it I realize that this is the first time I’ve ever seriously considered the possibility of falling while clipping on a trad route.

Clipped. I should be relieved but, Oh my God! I clipped the wrong the pin. There are two pins side by side and it’s clear why. Pin #1, the one I’ve just clipped, probably because the eye was so damned accessible, is pulled half way out and is a twisted into a semi-cork crew shape. Now I’m scared because I’ve just added rope out to clip into a highly dubious piece. I’m too pumped to add a second draw and too uncertain to downclimb.

Finally I say take, but softly. Todd takes me so softly I slither down too far to reach the pins. I heave myself back up using the small portion of the miniscule horizontal crack the pins aren’t taking up and let him take me a little harder. Hanging from the questionable pin so I can fix the fact that I’m clipped to it. Pure genius.

Once I’m safely backed up to the second pin I survey the route. I still don’t really see where it goes. It certainly doesn’t go up here. I can vagely see how it goes to the left but don’t like the looks of the gear situation. I have nothing to climb towards, no safety net in the forseeable future.

“I want to come down,” I tell Todd. I add a piece to the two-pin anchor and lower off. Todd goes up to rescue me.

“Now I see what all the issue are,” he says, after popping his head up over the block to look at the top pins. He cleans some of the mass of gear I’ve left in this five foot section of rock and then sails off to the left.

“I think you made all the right choices,” he tells me when he hits the ground again, but I’m not so sure when I follow it. Yes, there’s a runout after the pins, a potentially dangerous runout. But only the first move of the traverse left is really hard and that one is protected from above by the pins. Yes, the little roof-notch thing farther on is tricky and a stretch at my height, but that one’s well-protected and I did it, didn’t I? I should have been able to lead Outer Space, I tell myself. I should have tried harder at least.

We make a pact that I’ll quit leading for a while, to restore my joy in climbing which has been damaged by all the drama and angst. Then we trot off to the swimming hole, a much nicer place to spend such a hot day anyway.